An Assignment in the North
by x-Midnight-Writer-x
Summary: Sansa Stark is in the Police Witness Protection programme, being held in a safehouse in Scotland. Detective Clegane from London is assigned to the case. How will Sansa react to this hulk of a man following her every move? And how will Sandor deal with having to babysit a beautiful young woman? Rated M for later chapters
1. Beginnings

It was still dark outside. The cold winds of January blasted through every crack and crevice of the building. The door was kicked open, almost hard enough to tear it from the hinges, vibrations run through the room as it ricochet off the wall. A hulking figure filled the doorway and made its way into the foyer. Detective Constable Clegane shook the rainwater from his jacket and tossed the empty coffee cup into the bin. The desk assistant looked at him and shook her head in disapproval.  
"The Inspector wants to see you." She clipped. DC Clegane grunted in acknowledgment and stormed off.

_What the fuck did the Inspector want with him this time?_ He hadn't done much wrong in weeks. He couldn't be fucked with this shit. He found the door to the Inspectors office ajar, and kicked it fully open before walking in. Detective Inspector Selmy was sat at his desk on the phone. His frown deepened at the Officers rude arrival but he pointed to the seat opposite. Clegane lowered his mass into the seat and stretched his long legs out, crossing them at the ankles.  
"You could have knocked" The Inspector said when he put the phone down.  
"I could have."Clegane agreed. "What have I done now?" The older man frowned and picked a folder up, pushing it across the desk.  
"It's nothing you've done, it's what I want you to do." Sandor raised an eyebrow and opened the file.  
"Babysitting? You want me to _Babysit?_" The good side of his face curled up into a snarl. The Inspector sighed heavily.  
"You went undercover some years to retrieve intelligence on the Lannisters yes?" DC Clegane grunted in agreement.  
"Well there's been a development. Jeoffry had a fiancé, a girl called Sansa Stark." Sandor frowned. Had? What does had mean? He remembered Jeoffry from his time in the Lannister Lair. The most dangerous drug dealers in Britain, based right here in London. Jeoffry was the eldest son and heir to the throne of the underworld. Clegane had established that he was an evil little fuck, a psychotic brat who enjoyed other people's pain. If he had a fiancé she was either as sick as him, or she was as good as dead. He'd heard of the Starks, Ned Stark was an honourable businessman from the North, he was campaigning against drug dealing. Inspector Selmy continued talking.  
"She's been held there against her will for over a year, they murdered her entire family, she's been subject to horrific domestic abuse. Both physically and mentally." Selmy looked at him expectantly.  
"What the fuck do I have to do with it?" He tossed the papers on the desk.  
"As someone who has worked closely with the Lannisters you understand them better than most. This girl managed to escape and is now in one of our safehouses as a protected witness. However, she is proving more difficult than some of our other agents were expecting." The young Constable across from him frowned. The large man gestured to the burnt side of his face,  
"I somehow don't think I'm the most suitable to look after an extremely damaged rich kid. The little princess was probably rebelling against her daddy, partying with some White and got mixed in with the Lannisters. Then it all went bugger up and now she wants out." Selmy passed a hand across his face.  
"Look Clegane, hears the thing. You're the best we have, we need someone who can protect her and your that person. I don't really give a shit if you don't want to do it, you are. So pack your bags because you need to be in Scotland, by tomorrow at the latest."

Detective Costable Clegane stood up. "Yes Sir." He growled and stormed out of the room.

It was dark again, the daylight came and went, people left their jobs and went home to their families. The red numbers glowed on the dashboard as his truck merged onto the motorway. Scotland was a place he had not been in many years. And yet a place he thought about constantly. A place where his heart was both at peace and trapped in a rage. Both beautiful and horrific memories came back to him when he thought about Scotland.  
"Alba" he murmured as he self consciously caressed the ruined side of his face. The headlights from the Southbound cars illuminated his car for a second before plunging back into darkness. The crackle of the radio and the orange glow from the tip of his cigarette where his only company on the long drive.  
His truck covered the miles and sooner than he would have liked he was in his homeland. The traffic dwindled away and when he left the main road his car was the only one weaving in and out through the countryside. Silhouettes of the mountains to his left and the deep darkness of the forest blocked out the moonlight on his right.

It was nearly three when the monotone voice of his SAT NAV told him he had arrived. Fuck he hated that voice. He had plans to smash it up at the next opportunity. He'd use a fucking map next time. Not bothering to get his holdall from the backseat he walked up to the small house. Glancing up and down the road he realised there was nothing in this sleepy village, but an old gaslight lamp and a red phonebox on the corner. He knocked three times. Slow. And heavy. Two sharp raps came from the other side. He chapped the letter box once, something his Inspector had told him to do. The door opened a fraction.  
"Who is it?" an smooth honey toned voice murmured from within the house.  
"DC Clegane" he growled thrusting his Warrant Card into the gap. The door opened after a breath. He was scrutinised and dragged inside in one fluid movement.  
"DC Varys". Clegane looked down at Varys, a bald man with smooth skin that matched his voice. He did not trust this man. He did not look comfortable in the suit he was wearing.  
"Where is the girl?" Sandor asked taking in his surrounding with a single sweep of his steely gaze.  
"She went to bed hours ago, we've been keeping a close watch over her". Another voice came from his right. It was a soft husky voice that Clegane also immediately disliked. Out of the shadows stepped another, smaller man. He had a thin pointed face made more angular and distinguished by his perfected facial hair. His dark hair was greying at the sides, with such symmetry Clegane decided it was dyed. This mans eye's had a distrustful glint that made Sandor want to punch him in the face.  
"And who the fuck are you?" The newcomer smirked.  
"Special Agent Baelish, from the Intelligence division." Clegane felt his lip curl into a snarl,  
"Intelligence division?" He snorted. "You have no police powers whatsoever." Baelish shook his head.  
"Knowledge is power." He grinned, sending revulsion and vile distaste rippling through Sandor's veins and right down his spine. Sandor shoved his warrant card under this little pricks nose.  
"Power is power you little fuck." He growled. Baelish pale and drew back his lips. "When do you too fucks leave?"  
"As a matter of fact, we are departing now." Varys interceded.  
_Good. _he thought, the sooner he saw the backs of these pricks the better. He turned on his heel and marched to his truck. He walked past the other two agents as they all but ran to their Merc. Vary's called to him but Sandor slammed the front door behind him blocking out the sound of their voices and plunging him into darkness.  
_Fuck, that probably woke the brat._ He inwardly groaned. He tread up the stairs as quietly as a man of his size could manage. The first two door he tried revealed a sparsely decorated bedroom and a bathroom. The third door he tried looked more promising. He cast a wary glance through the darkness and saw a more inhabited room. An armchair in one corner and a large bookshelf on one wall. A double bed took up most of the room. And it was empty. The occupant was sitting on the windowsill. Her auburn hair trailed down her back and her pale skin gleamed in the darkness. Smoke swirled around her face as she breathed out into the night. Her cigarette lit up the darkness.  
"Do you want one?" Her soft voice laced with velvet tones whispered towards him.  
"You're not allowed to be doing that." He growled. She turned her face to look at him for the first time. If she was shocked by his scars she didn't show it. Her face had an unnatural hollowness he didn't think belonged. Even in the dark he could tell her hair was fiery red and her eyes ice blue. Even in the dark he could tell she was more beautiful than anyone he'd ever seen.  
"Why should I not?" Her accent was Scottish, but subtle hints. He searched his mind for a reason and couldn't find a valid one.  
"Because the government say we can't smoke in their houses." The girl in front of him snorted in the most unladylike fashion. He liked it. She sucked at her cigarette deeply.  
"Moved from one cage into another." She murmured into the night. Sandor Clegane twisted his features into a grin.  
"A little bird."


	2. Coffee and Cigarettes

The next morning Clegane awoke with a painful groan. He opened a bleary eye and glared around.

_Fuck_. he thought. He had left the little bird and came to review the case notes in the dark of the living room. The tableside light was still on and the half empty bottle of whiskey was on the floor beside him. The dull thumping in his head screamed when he tried to sit up.  
Clegane groaned again. Louder this time.  
_Fuck._

A clatter in the kitchen sent a ripping pain through his skull.

"Bastard!" he heard a voice grumble. He struggled to retrieve a name through the foggy haze of agony in his brain.

"Miss Stark?" He rasped.

"How's it going?" She called. Sandor winced.

"Keep it down." He sneered.

"It's not my fault you decided to get tannered on half a bottle of whiskey!" Her voice sang. Her melodic voice was torture. He needed a warm dark hole to crawl into and die. And maybe a beer.

"I picked you up some stuff to help with the hangover." Clegane frowned. Nothing could help. She walked into the living room. She was so bright it made his eyes hurt to watch her. Like the sun. But he couldn't tear his eyes away from the young beauty. She was wearing a blue beanie hat that was dull in comparison to her sapphire eyes. She was wearing a red plaid shirt over a black vest top. Her creamy white skin was flawless. She had black stuff around her eyes that matched her skin tight jeans. His eyes raked over the obvious curve of her thighs and hips. He paused when he noticed her slender graceful hands were holding out items like an offering.

"Irn Bru and a roll?" He growled, raising his good eyebrow.

"Not just any roll," she chided him "A tattie scone roll!" She looked at him triumphantly. When he continued to stare at her she rolled her eyes. "The tattie scone will help your salt levels, irn bru your sugar."

He scowled at the items in his large hands. She spun on her heel and marched out of the room giving him a delicious view of her behind as she stormed away.

He needed to stop thinking that. Now. He groaned again.

"Just eat the fuck up." She snapped over her shoulder. In spite of himself he smiled. Her temper was as fiery as her hair.

He opened the Irn Bru which hissed and guzzled down the orange drink. He hadn't tasted Irn Bru in years. Fuck it was good. He took a large bite of the roll. As the delicious mix of butter, bread, tomatoe sauce, and tattie scone filled his mouth his hangover ebbed slightly. He slouched back on the couch with a satisfied moan.

After wolfing down the rest of his breakfast he felt ready to stand. Gingerly he rose up and took unsteady steps to the kitchen. He couldn't see the little bird, but he could smell cigarettes. Following his nose he found her at the back door. Smoke was circling her head as she breathed out into the garden.

"Thank you for the food." He muttered. He drew his own cigarettes out of his jacket and sparked his lighter. The first draw had his head spinning with pleasure. All he needed was a coffee.

Sansa turned around to squint up at him.

"Don't mention it big guy. What _am_ I supposed to call you anyway?" He stared down at her next to his feet. She looked so fragile and delicate, so small.

"Anything you want." He refused to meet her eyes and glared out at the garden. He felt her roll her eyes as she got to her feet. She was tall, he noticed, but she only reached his chest.

"You must have a name." she insisted. Sandor snorted.

"I have many, girl, some call me Hound, some call me Clegane, some call me Sandor. You can chose whatever you like." He closed his eyes and sucked at his cigarette – wishing she would leave him in peace even though he'd sought her out.

"Sandor. That one is best."

He opened his eyes to find her standing with her hands on her hips. Very few people called him Sandor.

"Whatever." He flicked the cigarette away and turned back into the house.

Sansa watched him go before doing the same.

"Do you want a coffee?" he asked.

"Aye." She grinned "Two and a coo please."

He merely grunted and spooned the coffee into cups. Two days ago he was a respected man with his own life in London. Now here he was making coffee in the middle of nowhere. Crawling into a dark warm hole was sounding better by the second. And so was the beer.


End file.
